


your smile and your sleight of hand

by vinegar-and-glitter (vinegarandglitter)



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Con Artist Connor, Evan Hansen's Sexy Waffle House, Karaoke, Lumberjack Evan, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 19:09:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14063556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinegarandglitter/pseuds/vinegar-and-glitter
Summary: It’s been nine years since high school ended. Connor Murphy’s making ends meet through petty crime and swindling people out of their money. His latest target? Former classmate Evan Hansen, self-made millionaire and lonely recluse who lives alone in a cabin in the woods.





	your smile and your sleight of hand

**Author's Note:**

> As is customary for the last three DEH fics I've written, this one is entirely the fault of chchchchcherrybomb and their encouragement to write this ridiculous AU idea. After watching Orphan Black, I was reminded that I am indeed a weak bisexual, and that Cal and Sarah are both incredibly, incredibly hot. Thus the Lumberjack!Evan and ConArtist!Connor AU was born and... well... I really wanted to read it, so I wrote it. 
> 
> That's basically how it goes these days.

_If I could trace the line that ran_  
_Between your smile and your sleight of hand_  
_I'd guess that you put something up my sleeve_  
_Now every time I see your face the bells ring in a far-off place_  
_We can find each other this way I believe_

**_Come and Find Me - Josh Ritter_ **

* * *

 

“So is this the target?”

 

Smitt smirks. “Not bad looking, right? Should be easy for you.”

 

Connor squints at the photo. This guy looks familiar. “Name?”

 

“Evan Hansen.”

 

“Oh shit.” He barks out a laugh. “Evan fucking Hansen, no way.”

 

“You know this guy?”

 

Connor smirks. “We go way back. He had a creepy crush on my sister in high school.” He turns back to Smitt, who’s busily dropping his cigarette butt in an empty beer bottle. “What makes you think I’m going to be get under this guy’s skin? Don’t think I’m his type.”

 

Smitt tilts his head. “You think I’d set you after a straight guy? Come on, man. This guy’s about as straight as… that swirly macaroni shit.”

 

“You’re a true wordsmith, Smitt.”

 

Smitt rolls his eyes. “He’s a creature of habit. He’ll be at the bar at 7.30pm exactly. He’ll order a beer, he’ll sing exactly one song on the karaoke machine, then he’ll have another beer and go home around nine. He never stays long and he never really talks to anyone, but he’s always pleased if someone talks to him.” Smitt looks at Connor knowingly. “He’s been known to take them home and when it comes to gender, he ain’t picky.”

 

“Karaoke?” Connor asks, trying not to laugh. “This guy was scared of his own shadow in high school, there’s no way he’d get up in front of all these people and sing.”

 

“It’s been nine years since you were in high school, Murphy. People change.”

 

Some people do, he thinks to himself. And some people end up exactly what everyone expected them to be - gutter trash like him.

 

“So why’s this guy a target anyway?” Connor asks, trying not to to sound too interested. Like he’s not insanely curious as to why it’s Evan Hansen of all people he’s supposed to seduce and rob.

 

“You wouldn’t think it to look at him, but this guy’s a genius,” says Smitt, a smile curving on thin lips. Everything about Smitt is thin and pinched, like something could break him in half without trying, but Connor’s seen this guy break the nose of a man three times his size and walk away to tell the tale. “Drones. He made his money in drones. They were meant to help dwindling bee populations and increase pollination. The government bought the technology off him for millions.”

 

“Shit.”

 

“Yeah, they offered him more work but… he bailed. Moved to the middle of nowhere in a cabin in the woods. Total lumberjack. Total shut-in, aside from his once a week karaoke bar outing.” Smitt points to Connor with a smirk. “Which is where you come in. Seduce him, get him to take you home, get to know him and get everything you need to clean him out. He’s a simple guy with a simple life, he doesn’t need to be sitting on millions.” Smitt smiles widely. “Not when there are so many interesting things we could be doing with the money.”

 

Connor looks at the photo. Evan looks good. His hair’s grown out a bit, he’s got a beard and he’s fully embracing the lumberjack look, which is… definitely working for him. Connor had always thought he was kind of cute, in an awkward way, but he’s definitely improved with age. Like a cheese, he guesses.

 

Evan Hansen, a delicious slice of vintage cheddar.

 

That Connor Murphy’s going to sink his teeth into.

 

There are worse jobs, he supposes, looking at the photo for a long moment before handing it back to Smitt. “I’m in.”

 

* * *

 

Evan gets to the bar at 7.30pm on the dot and Jim the bartender smiles at him. “The usual?”

 

It’s all so terribly cliche but Evan likes it. Likes that there’s someone who knows his usual. Likes that he can kind of feel like he belongs, even if it’s just for an hour and a half on a Friday night.

 

“Sure,” he says, handing over his credit card in exchange for a beer. He flips through the catalogue on the counter, looking for a song to set the tone for the evening.

 

Karaoke’s a bit of a guilty pleasure.

 

He remembers dueting with his former business partner, taking the Elton John part while Simon did a terrible Kiki Dee impression at the party they threw to celebrate the successful launch of the drone technology.

 

Before everything blew up.

 

Before they used Evan’s inventions to blow shit up on the other side of the world.

 

He closes his eyes for a moment and tries to shake himself out of it.

 

It’s not karaoke’s fault his ex-business partner (and ex-partner) fucked him over.

 

He’ll sing if he damn well wants to.

 

This is a small town, so he recognizes some of the people in the bar, though this is a place where people come and go, so there are always unfamiliar faces. It had taken him a few weeks (okay, a few months) to get the courage to get up and sing, but now he was what you’d call a regular. Turns out he has a decent singing voice and he’s found that singing provides a bit of an icebreaker, which is a huge relief because he’s not much of a conversation starter without it.

 

It’s much easier to sing in front of people than it is to start a conversation. At least with karaoke, the words are right in front of him.

 

He’s in the middle of a Billy Joel number, singing his heart out from the tiny beer soaked stage, when he spots a guy at the bar watching him intently. Because of the lights, Evan can’t really see him in much detail - he just gets vague impressions. Tall, lanky, dressed in black, long hair and an angular face. There’s something weirdly familiar about him. Evan tries not to make it obvious that he’s checking him out.

 

This guy is definitely worth looking at.

 

There’s thunderous applause as he finishes and he smiles, waves kind of awkwardly then puts the microphone back on the stand, wincing a little as it makes a screeching noise. Then he heads back to the bar, where Jim the bartender already has his second beer waiting.

 

“You’ve got a good voice,” says a voice that’s weirdly familiar.

 

Evan turns and sees the tall lanky guy at the bar in better detail. This guy is… sharp, for lack of a better word. Sharp cheekbones, sharp jawline, sharp elbows and sharp eyes, looking right at him. He’s in a leather jacket and what looks like leather pants and everything’s a study in contrast, dark hair and black clothing striking against pale skin.

 

He still can’t quite place him. “Thanks,” he says, trying for a smile.

 

“I think I know you,” says the guy thoughtfully, a smile turning the edge of his lips. It kind of changes his face a little, makes it less familiar. It’s nice, though. He snaps his fingers and points at Evan, smile a little wider. “Evan Hansen, right?”

 

Evan’s eyes widen. “Uh, yeah.” He’s just about to apologize profusely that he doesn’t recognize this beautiful man when all of a sudden, he does. “Connor Murphy?”

 

“It’s been awhile,” Connor replies, still smiling. Evan doesn’t remember Connor smiling in high school. It’s a little unsettling - not in a bad way, just unexpected. It does something to his eyes, makes them… softer. Makes everything softer. “How have you been?”

 

“Good!” Evan says, feeling himself turn red, because holy shit when did Connor Murphy get this damn attractive. “Good. How, uh, how about you?”

 

Connor tilts his head a little and bites his lip. “Been keeping entertained,” he says, his tone teasing. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here. Do you live nearby?”

 

“Yeah,” Evan says with a nod. “Yeah, this is, uh, my local? I guess. I guess I’m someone who has a local now. It’s so weird. Like, when I came in here, the bartender - his name is Jim - asked me if I wanted the usual, and I was just thinking that that was so weird, you know? Like, you see it on TV where someone comes into the bar and they ask for the usual and they know and I always thought that was kind of unrealistic, because bartenders are busy and serve lots of people every night, but it actually happens, if you live somewhere small enough, or if the bartender has a really good memory, and it’s kind of cool. Weird. But cool. It makes me feel like a grown-up.” He laughs nervously. “I mean, obviously I’m a grown-up, I’m 26, and you’re probably 26, too except you might be 27, I can’t remember if you were older than me by a huge amount or just a few months, and I’ll be 27 in July, so… how are you?”

 

Connor takes a sip of his drink. Whiskey, Evan thinks, from the look of it. It’s… kind of hot. “I’ve been jumping from place to place,” he says casually. “Picking up work here and there.”

 

“Oh, cool,” Evan says, trying not to blush as Connor runs his finger around the edge of his glass because for some reason that’s making him feel things and this is very embarrassing, oh god. “What do you do? If you don’t mind me asking.”

 

“Bits and pieces,” Connor says with a smirk. He looks right at Evan and Evan’s kind of afraid his heart’s going to stop. “It’s nice to see a familiar face, though. Been too long since I saw one of those.”

 

“Oh.” Evan swallows. “Are you, uh, not in touch with people from back home? Like, at all?”

 

Connor shrugs. “Christmas cards happen, on occasion.” He nods to himself for a minute. “Did you hear my sister married Alana Beck?”

 

“I did, actually,” Evan says in a rush. “I was, uh, at their wedding, I didn’t see you there?”

 

“I didn’t go,” Connor replies flatly.

 

“Oh.” Evan bites his lip. “Well, it was nice. There were… uh… hot dogs. Your dad got really drunk and fell in the punch bowl.”

 

Connor’s eyes widen, then he lets out an honest to goodness laugh. And oh, if Evan thought that seeing Connor smile softened him, that was absolutely nothing compared to seeing him laugh. It changes him, somehow, making him seem younger and more carefree and…

 

“That wasn’t in any of the official photos,” Connor says, still smiling. “Oh man, I’d have paid good money to see that.”

 

Evan nods, then remembers something. “Actually, hang on, I think…” He pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through his videos. “Jared kidnapped my phone because his was flat - Jared Kleinman, I don’t know if you remember him -”

 

“I remember him. Is he still an asshole?”

 

“Uh, yes. Anyway, he took a video of your dad dancing and… watch this.”

 

Evan watches Connor as Connor watches the video of Larry Murphy, doing some kind of weird chicken dance and then falling into the punch bowl. Connor lets out a howl of laughter and Evan must be getting weird in his old age, because it kind of reminds him of the first rays of sun in the early morning. “Oh man, can you send me that? I’ll put my number in your phone.”

 

“Go ahead,” Evan says, gesturing to the phone. He watches as Connor fiddles with his phone, noticing his long fingers, with nails still painted black, just like they were in high school.

 

Evan had always kind of liked that.

 

Connor hands him his phone back and their hands touch for a moment.

 

Connor looks straight at him.

 

“You live nearby?” he asks in a low voice.

 

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

 

Connor smiles. “You wanna get out of here?”

 

“With you?”

 

“Yeah, with me.”

 

“Yes. Very much so, yes.”

 

* * *

 

Evan’s house is… not what Connor expected. Then again, he doesn’t know what he did expect. Not really. Knowing how much money Evan made from his drone technology, it doesn’t make sense that he lives in the middle of nowhere, in a decidedly average looking house.

 

On second thoughts, Connor muses as he looks around, maybe this is exactly where he should have pictured Evan Hansen.

 

It’s dark, but the place is well lit, with wide windows that Connor imagines would bring in a lot of natural light. The walls and floors are wood, polished and varnished to perfection. Connor vaguely remembers that this kid was fucking obsessed with trees back in high school, and it looks like nothing has changed - there’s artwork of trees all over the walls. It’s kind of dorky, but also kind of… nice.

 

He follows Evan into an open plan kitchen and living room space. The kitchen has a generously sized countertop and a range of appliances. There are comfortable looking couches covered in soft-looking blankets, hanging plants and fluffy rugs. It all feels… homey.

 

Connor can’t remember the last time he was somewhere that felt homey. Certainly not growing up in his parents' museum of a house. Certainly not anywhere he’d laid his head since. His usual targets were rich idiots who might be tempted to take a walk on the wild side or less rich idiots who’d gotten involved in something shady and had been targeted by someone needing leverage.

 

He kind of feels like he doesn’t deserve to be here. Just for a moment.

 

The feeling passes.

 

He’s got work to do.

 

Evan’s putting on an electric kettle and giving Connor a soft smile. “Thought we could have some tea,” he says by way of explanation. “I’ve got heaps of different kinds, anything you like in particular?”

 

Connor isn’t exactly a huge tea fan normally, but he ventures a guess as to something he might have. “Peppermint?”

 

Evan’s smile broadens. “That’s what I was thinking, too.”

 

Connor chuckles. “Great minds.”

 

Evan’s soft. Everything about this place is… gentle, and soft, and warm. Connor’s going to have to be soft if he wants to pull this off.

 

These days, he’s good at being what people want. Really good at it, in fact. He’s got a knack for it, and it’s served him well in the profession he’s fallen into.

 

He inwardly snorts at that. Profession. Hah. Like any child is going to tell their parents that when they grow up, they want to seduce people and steal their money.

 

Not for the first time, he wonders if he’s a sociopath.

 

“Just you out here?” Connor asks as Evan pushes a mug toward him. He wraps his hands around it. It’s warm. It’s nice. He takes a sip.

 

“Me and Prudence,” says Evan with a nod. At Connor’s look, his eyes widen. “She’s my dog! She’s, uh, asleep in the washroom. I tend to get her settled in there on Friday nights.” He looks sheepish. “You know, in case I bring home... company.”

 

Connor raises an eyebrow. “So you’re often on the prowl for someone to bring home on Friday night?” he teases. “Good to know.”

 

Evan blushes a deep red. “That sounds bad, I know, I just… most of the time, it’s just me out here, and I… I’m still not good with people, but if I sing, it’s, uh, easier to talk to people?”

 

Connor nods. Now that he’s heard Evan sing, it makes sense. When Evan’s singing, he doesn’t ramble, he doesn’t stutter, he doesn’t fold in on himself - he’s confident and he’s talented and he’s… kind of fucking sexy, to be completely honest. It makes total sense that people would compliment him on his voice, and it would start a conversation, and then… well…

 

That’s exactly what Connor did, after all.

 

Exactly what Smitt said would work.

 

“Serenaded by Evan Hansen,” he says with what he hopes is a sultry grin. “Never thought I’d see the day. Can’t say I didn’t like it, though.”

 

Evan’s eyes widen and he blushes slightly more. “I, uh… I wasn’t sure if you wanted to come home with me because you wanted to catch up because we used to know each other or if you wanted to, you know, because usually I don’t… actually know the people that come home with me and it’s easier but I do actually know you so it’s kind of weird and I don’t want to assume anything but-”

 

“Evan.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Stop talking.”

 

Before Evan can argue, Connor grabs his face and kisses him forcefully. It takes a second, but Evan leans into the kiss enthusiastically, and holy shit senior year would have been a lot more enjoyable if he’d known Evan Hansen could do _this_. He runs his hands through Evan’s hair, enjoying the feel of the messy waves, then all of a sudden, Evan’s pushing him against the fridge and kissing his neck and _Jesus fuck_ he was not expecting that.

 

Then again, he thinks as Evan enthusiastically nips at his collarbone and he tries not to moan too embarrassingly loudly, it’s not like Evan hasn’t done this before.

 

“Is this okay?” Evan asks as he pulls away. He’s breathing heavily and he’s looking at Connor like… fuck, he doesn’t know how to describe that, but it’s… definitely something.

 

Connor grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls him back toward him for another kiss, fumbling with the buttons. Evan pulls back again, smirks and grabs the bottom of Connor’s shirt in retaliation, pulling it off him in one fell swoop. Connor takes the opportunity to get rid of Evan’s shirt and holy shit, he’s gotten built since high school. There are muscles he definitely wouldn’t have associated with Evan fucking Hansen, holy shit, and he kinda wants to lick all of them. Fucking hell.

 

Evan pushes him back against the fridge and kisses just under his ear. “Bedroom?” he murmurs roughly.

 

“Yes,” he manages to say, and all of a sudden he is literally being dragged around the corner through a door and thrown on a king-sized bed and…

 

Well…

 

It’s kind of what he came here for but he hadn’t expected to enjoy it quite this much.

 

He wakes up to the sunrise.

 

Evan’s stirring a little, but Connor’s always been a light sleeper, so he’s not surprised he’s up first. He looks at Evan intently as the first rays of the morning hit his skin, and tries to reconcile that stammering, stuttering kid from high school with this… sexy lumberjack who enthusiastically jumped his bones last night. His hair is unruly and kind of golden in the early light, and the beard is… definitely hot. And the muscles. Connor wonders if he got them from climbing trees. He vaguely remembers that Evan fell out of a tree just before senior year and spent the first few months in a cast.

 

He thinks he might have been the only one to sign that cast.

 

It’s weird thinking about high school Connor. He was a thunderstorm, dark clouds of anger with bursts of violence breaking through like lightning bolts. He’d been alone and terrified and confused and he’d honestly tried to connect with Evan, but seeing his sister’s name on that letter…

 

Connor shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think about that now.

 

Not when Evan’s opening his eyes and looking at him and that sleepy smile is kind of making his heart do some kind of roller-coaster impression.

 

“Hey,” Evan says, voice thick with sleep. “You sleep okay?”

 

“Better than I have in awhile,” he confesses. “I only just woke up.”

 

“You want breakfast?” Evan offers. “I make good waffles. I think I even have blueberries.”

 

“Sounds awesome,” Connor says. He’s not sure why he says what he does next. He doesn’t know if it’s part of the job, or just that something he really, really wants. “Can we just… lie here for a bit first?”

 

Evan smiles, then rolls over and throws an arm over him. Connor moves closer, breathes in the smell of him and tries not to think about how he’s only here to rob this guy absolutely blind.

 

* * *

 

Evan’s done this before. This is not an unusual Saturday morning routine for him. Cuddle whoever’s in bed with him, get up, feed Prudence, make waffles and coffee and have breakfast with aforementioned bed partner. It’s even gotten to the stage where he genuinely makes waffle mix the night before so that breakfast doesn’t take too long.

 

Plus, he found this great recipe for Belgian waffles that’s way better if it’s left overnight, so…

 

It’s not that he’s worried that if he spends too long in the kitchen, whoever it is he’s got in his bed will get bored and leave.

 

Nope.

 

At least, he assures himself as he plugs in the waffle maker, he hasn’t gotten to the stage where he premakes waffles, puts them in the freezer and just heats them up in the oven the next morning.

 

That’s a bit too much, even for him.

 

He runs his hand through his hair absently as he takes the waffle mix out of the fridge, blushing a little as he remembers pushing Connor against said fridge the night before.

 

He’s done that before, too.

 

But not with Connor Murphy.

 

Connor’s literally the last person he’d expected to see at the bar last night but he’s not complaining, especially not after last night. Evan’s not the kind of person to keep score, but he has to admit it was the best sex he’s had in a while. Not that he’s consistently having bad sex, but… well… this was a step above.

 

He tries to figure out why as he starts on the waffles.

 

Is it just that Connor Murphy turned out really, really attractive? Maybe. But also maybe not. Evan’s never considered himself a particularly shallow person. He likes connecting with people and some might say he’s not exactly picky, but he doesn’t think he’s a slut, necessarily… it’s just… easy this way.

 

He’s aware that people in town talk about him and his… Friday night habit. He’s been living here about a year and taking people home for nearly 8 months, and if he’s going to brutally honest with himself, he’s probably slept with and made waffles for half the town. It’s a little embarrassing in some ways, and he’d never tell his mother, but… he’s in his twenties, he’s got a perfectly normal sex drive and there’s not a lot of point in making waffles if he’s the only one eating them.

 

Apparently, the diner three blocks from the bar dropped the price of their waffles because people kept joking that they weren’t as good as Evan’s.

 

Evan has no idea how to feel about this.

 

“Smells good.”

 

And there’s Connor Murphy, in all his glory, shirtless and in leather pants, and Evan has to concentrate on making breakfast because if he doesn’t he’s going to either spontaneously combust or throw Connor against the counter and have his way with him immediately.

 

Which is also a change. Because. Well.

 

Evan Hansen is a creature of habit.

 

Friday nights are for wild sex and Saturday mornings are for waffles.

 

He smiles and switches on the coffee machine before his pants get any smart ideas about banging Connor Murphy against the fridge. He turns to see Connor’s eyes light up at the coffee machine and kind of chuckles. “Do you want me to make you a coffee?”

 

“Best morning after ever,” says Connor with a wide grin. “I kind of turned into a coffee snob when I was living in New York, which is terrible because I honestly can’t afford to be a coffee snob, so it hasn’t worked out well for me.”

 

There’s a beep from the waffle maker and Evan removes the waffles and hands Connor a plate. “Enjoy,” he says with a warm smile, handing over some cutlery and gesturing to the maple syrup. “Let me just put the next batch on then I’ll get started on your coffee.”

 

“How are you even real?” Connor asks, pouring maple syrup over his waffles.

 

Evan closes the now full waffle maker and heads over to the coffee machine. “I like Saturday morning breakfasts,” he confesses. “It’s nice, just kind of… having waffles and coffee and… sitting and talking.”

 

“So this is how Evan Hansen spends his weekends,” Connor says between mouthfuls of waffle. “Gotta say, I’m kind of impressed.” He gestures with his fork at his nearly empty plate. “These are really fucking good, oh my god.”

 

“I can make plenty more,” Evan assures him as he finishes pouring a shot of espresso. His espresso machine is a ridiculous luxury, but it’s not like he can’t afford it and he’d gotten used to decent coffee when he was working with Simon on the drone project. Simon had been the kind of person to order in particular blends of coffee beans.

 

Evan doesn’t want to think about Simon right now. He looks over at Connor. “Do you just want, like, black coffee or do you want steamed milk? I can do either.”

 

“Milk please,” Connor says, moving the last piece of waffle around his plate to mop up syrup. He pops it in his mouth with relish and Evan nearly burns himself on the milk frothing wand because he’s distracted by his lips.

 

 _Get yourself together_ , Evan tells himself sternly. “So, how long do you think you’ll be in town for?” he asks, trying to keep his tone casual. Because… well…

 

Evan doesn’t have any kind of rule around sleeping with someone twice. Not really. He’s done it a couple of times, but he hasn’t managed to have a proper relationship since Simon. It’s not like he doesn’t want one, or that he’s resigned to only ever having what he’s got now, but… it’s hard.

 

It’s hard to trust people these days. It’s hard to trust them enough to let them in.

 

So he doesn’t really know why he’s asking Connor if he’s planning on staying in town long.

 

“Actually,” says Connor, standing up and walking around the counter so he’s within kissing distance of Evan, and oh my god _this is very distracting_ , “I’m kind of… between things at the moment. I was just passing through, but I could be convinced to stick around.” He looks straight at Evan, his gaze bold and inviting. “Is that… something you’d be interested in?”

 

Evan shuts off the milk frother with a decisive movement and grabs Connor by the waist, kissing him fiercely. This time Connor’s the one to push him against the counter, and he doesn’t even care that he’s going to end up with a bruise on his back because Connor’s kissing his collarbone and all Evan can think about is getting him out of those pants and…

 

The waffle maker beeps. Connor kind of jumps and pulls away and laughs awkwardly, and Evan’s laughing too, and then he’s putting more waffles on Connor’s plate and handing him a cup of coffee and…

 

“If you wanted to stick around, I wouldn’t be opposed,” Evan says as he puts syrup on the waffle on his plate and tries not to imagine licking maple syrup off Connor because that would be messy and make laundry more complicated but he might not care right now. “Do you, uh, have somewhere to stay?”

 

Connor looks sheepish. “I’ve kind of been crashing in my car the last few months.”

 

Evan looks at him intently and notices a few things he’d missed in his earlier haze of lust. Dark circles under his eyes. Thinner than he should be. Pale, almost too pale.

 

He knows Connor’s not in touch with his family.

 

He knows Connor didn’t exactly have the most healthy habits back in high school.

 

Maybe Connor needs someone to take care of him just as much as Evan needs someone other than his dog to fill up this empty house.

 

“Stay with me,” Evan says.

 

There’s an unreadable look that flickers across Connor’s face for just a moment, then he smiles. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Connor’s fucked.

 

Not just fucked in that he’s spent the last week letting anxious little Evan Hansen from high school screw his brains out, but, like, actually completely and utterly fucked.

 

This is a job, not a social call, and he’s having way too good a time here.

 

No, that’s not the problem. He’s had good times on the job before - plenty of good times, in fact - but this is something else. This is something different.

 

From the moment Evan’s eyes softened when Connor admitted he was living in his car, Connor knew this wasn’t going to be anywhere near as straightforward as he’d thought.

 

He’s not the type to catch feelings, and he doesn’t have _time_ to catch feelings, and he doesn’t _want_ to catch feelings because feelings aren’t useful, they just get in the way. He’s spent the last eight years trying not to feel things because he always felt too much. First, it was drugs, then it was sex, then it was both literally and figuratively fucking with people.

 

He’s good at it.

 

It kind of gives him a rush. The fact that he can be whoever he wants to people. Whoever someone wants him to be. The attractive stranger for a night of anonymous passion. The tough, terrifying presence, lurking at the back of the room as a threat and security. The cool, confident charmer, ready to be both arm candy and the life of the party. The lost and lonely drifter, in need of someone to protect them.

 

He’s played on people’s sympathy before. Boohoo, I live in my car, I don’t know what I’m doing, I’ve fallen on hard times, how about you invite me into your home and I’ll make it worth your while with my dick? He doesn’t love playing the woeful waif, but… well… if it works, it works, and he’s spent so long being so many different characters that he’s not even sure what he is anymore.

 

And there’s Evan, making waffles and proper coffee with a dorky smile one moment, then making him see stars in his king sized bed the next. Connor figured out pretty quickly what it is that Evan Hansen wants.

 

Someone to see him. Someone to be there. Someone to spend time with him.

 

It’s what he’s always wanted, Connor suspects.

 

Eventually, Connor is going to break this kid’s heart and there’s nothing he can do about it.

 

Over the past week, he’s learned a lot about Evan. He’s met his dog Prudence and overheard Evan literally sing to the dog over breakfast at least twice. (He doesn’t know if there’s anything cuter in the whole world than Evan crooning _‘the sun is up, the sky is blue, it’s beautiful and so are you, dear Prudence’_ to a golden retriever.) He’s learned that every Sunday, he calls his mom and they talk for about an hour. He’s learned that he grows his own vegetables, and collects fresh eggs from his chickens, and doesn’t really eat meat, so he doesn’t have to do that much grocery shopping. He’s learned that Evan isn’t just great at making waffles, he also makes a terrific frittata and even makes his own bread.

 

Connor has no idea why no one’s snatched him up yet. If you’re looking for a simple life in the country with a nice man, you honestly couldn’t do much better than Evan.

 

He’s sitting at the kitchen table on Friday night and suddenly realizes that it’s Friday night. He looks at Evan, who’s happily eating his serving of a sandwich that involves roasted pumpkin and feta and spinach and is way tastier than it has any right to be and kind of clears his throat. Evan looks at him and smiles.

 

There’s a piece of spinach in his teeth.

 

It’s all so dorky that it makes Connor’s heart hurt.

 

“It’s Friday,” Connor says casually. “Karaoke?”

 

Evan’s eyes widen, then he turns bright red. “I, uh, since you’re here I figured I, uh, wouldn’t.”

 

“And deprive the locals of your amazing voice?” Connor says, not sure why he’s pushing this. “Come on, let’s go out. Serenade me again.”

 

“Only if you sing as well,” Evan counters.

 

And.

 

Well.

 

“Fine,” he agrees.

 

“Wait, really?”

 

“What, you don’t think I can?”

 

Evan chuckles. “I didn’t say you couldn’t, I just thought you… wouldn’t.” He tilts his head a little and smiles. “You’re full of surprises.”

 

 _Yeah, and they’re all terrible_ , Connor thinks to himself.

 

When they get to the bar, it’s nearly 8pm and the bartender waves at Evan, eyes lighting up. There’s a weird kind of jolt in Connor’s stomach that he recognizes as jealousy, which he tries to tamp down because it’s not exactly something he has any right to be feeling. As they approach the bar, the bartender starts pouring a beer and hands it to Evan the moment he arrives.

 

“You’re late,” says the bartender, tone teasing.

 

“Got distracted,” Connor cuts in, putting an arm around Evan’s waist. He has no idea why he’s doing it.

 

He’s half expecting the bartender to react in some way but instead, his smile widens at the sight of the two of them. “Well, alright.” He looks at Connor. “Whiskey neat, right?”

 

“Put it on my tab,” Evan says, handing over his credit card. He shoots Connor a soft smile, then turns back to the bartender. “Feel free to cut Connor here off is he doesn’t uphold his end of the bargain.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“I have to sing,” Connor says, expression slightly pained.

 

The bartender breaks into laughter. “Is it going to be a duet?”

 

Evan grins. “No, that’s cheating.”

 

“It’s probably just as well,” says the bartender, handing Connor his whiskey. “There’d be broken hearts all over this town if they saw Evan singing a duet.”

 

“Seriously, Jim,” Evan groans. “You’re making me sound like some kind of Casanova.”

 

Jim just raises his eyebrows. Connor resists the urge to down his whiskey in one go and instead sips it like the fucking adult he’s supposed to be. The adult he’s trying to convince Evan he is.

 

Evan hands him a folder. “Moment of truth, Murphy,” he says, more confident than he’s ever heard him. “See what’s on the menu.”

 

They spend a good fifteen minutes going through the karaoke catalog, pointing out songs and laughing. Evan kind of stops at one page, mutters a number to himself, then keeps going. Connor nudges him. “What did you pick?”

 

Evan kind of smirks. “Not telling. In fact, I’m not even singing until you’ve gotten up there and knocked my socks off.”

 

“Hey, I saw you put those socks on, and I know for a fact they’re not going to be knocked off easily,” Connor teases. “You could go hiking in those things.”

 

“I don’t like having cold feet,” Evan replies with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t change the subject. Pick a damn song.”

 

Connor chuckles. “Alright, fine. I have an idea.”

 

“What did you pick?”

 

It’s Connor’s turn to smirk. “Not telling.”

 

He goes up to the guy running the karaoke machine, tells him the number and grabs the microphone with a confidence he most definitely does not feel. The opening riff starts and Connor can see Evan laugh as he recognizes the opening chords.

 

Then he opens his mouth and launches into an enthusiastic, if not entirely tuneful rendition of ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go?’ by The Clash and tries very, very hard not to get too caught up in the sentiment of the song.

 

If he were a decent person, the answer to that question would be obvious: go, before someone gets hurt.

 

Unfortunately, he’s a selfish lying asshole.

 

Evan’s hooting and hollering at the top of his lungs as he finishes and Connor takes an awkward bow, before putting the microphone back and heading to the bar, where Evan’s already ordered him another whiskey. “Now it’s time to uphold your end of the bargain,” Connor says with a grin. “Let me hear those golden pipes of yours.”

 

Evan looks at him fondly for a moment then leans in to kiss him. It’s probably the most chaste kiss they’ve ever shared and it sends a shiver down his spine. “You wanted me to serenade you, right?” Evan says quietly. “I can do that.”

 

A moment later and Connor thinks his heart might actually implode inside his chest as Evan looks him dead in the eye from the stage and starts singing ‘Can’t Help Falling In Love’, not taking his eyes off him the whole time.

 

Connor thinks about what it would be like to have this, for forever. Friday night karaoke, kisses and whiskey, singing stupid songs at each other then going back to Evan’s cabin and making love until the small hours of the morning. Waking up to cuddles and waffles and coffee and sunlight making Evan’s hair shine golden. Sunday afternoons curled up on the couch, watching television, drinking tea and talking.

 

Only fools rush in.

 

 _Oh Evan_ , Connor thinks as he watches him sing. _This isn’t going to end well for you._

 

_I am so, so sorry._

 

* * *

 

Connor’s eyes are wide when Evan gets back to the bar, and he immediately regrets his song choice. He’s come on too strong. He’s misread the situation entirely. He’s about to apologize when Connor pulls him for a kiss, then hands him a beer. “You’re amazing,” Connor murmurs. “Completely amazing.”

 

“It’s, uh, it’s a nice song,” Evan says, feeling his hand shake just a little as he brings his beer closer to his mouth. He finishes it in one long gulp then looks at Connor, who raises his eyebrows and breaks into a grin.

 

“Oh, is that how we’re doing things?” he says with a smirk.

 

“Why not?” Evan replies, throwing caution to the wind. There’s something about Connor that makes him want to take stupid risks. “Shots, Jim?”

 

Jim cracks up laughing. “Sure thing, gentlemen.”

 

A few tequila shots in and things get entertaining. Connor manages to drag Evan onstage for another number, much to the appreciation of the bar patrons, and they drunkenly duet an absolutely shocking rendition of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’, encouraging the rest of the bar to join them. Connor headbangs his way through the instrumental, doing a truly ridiculous air guitar, and Evan’s just laughing and jumping and watching him and feeling his heart get fuller and fuller as the evening goes on.

 

As they finish the last note, Evan grabs Connor and kisses him fiercely, earning a yell of appreciation from the crowd. It’s later than he’s usually here so he doesn’t know everyone, but there are familiar faces here and there. As in, people he’s definitely seen naked.

 

If he’d drank less, he’d be super embarrassed by now.

 

He’s drunkenly considering how much more embarrassed he would be if he just fucked Connor right on the pool table when Connor grabs his wrist and hands him his credit card. “Jim gave it back to me,” he says into Evan’s ear. “Think he’s trying to hint he’s cutting us off. No more tequila for you.”

 

“Let me take you home,” Evan replies, and they stumble out of the bar into the cool air of the night.

 

It’s about a half an hour walk to Evan’s place, so he’s a little confused when Connor practically pours him into a car. “I got us an Uber,” he explains. “I’ll drive you to get your car in the morning, okay?”

 

“You’re good at taking care of me,” Evan slurs. “I’m supposed to… I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.”

 

“Hey,” Connor says gently, pushing his hair out of his face. “We can take care of each other, yeah?”

 

“Okay,” Evan agrees, resting his head on Connor’s shoulder. He looks at the guy in the driver’s seat and brightens. “Oh hey, it’s Marty!”

 

“Out a bit later than usual,” says Marty the Uber driver (who Evan’s about 85% sure he’s slept with), his voice a cross between annoyed and amused. “And a lot drunker than usual.”

 

“That’s because Connor’s here,” Evan says happily. “We went to high school together, did you know that?”

 

“No, I didn’t,” says Marty patiently. “That’s nice.”

 

“He’s great.” Evan grabs Connor’s leg and strokes it gently. “He’s really, really great.”

 

“Sorry man,” Connor says in a tone that doesn’t actually sound all that apologetic. “Tequila shots.”

 

“Make sure he gets some water,” says Marty, pulling into Evan’s driveway.

 

Connor helps him out of the car and they stagger to the front door. Evan fumbles for his keys, then gives up and hands them to Connor solemnly. “You do it,” he instructs, leaning against the side of the house. “Yeah, I _definitely_ fucked that Uber driver.”

 

“I figured,” says Connor as he fiddles with the lock. The door swings open and Evan bounds inside, heading straight to the kitchen and taking 2 bottles of water from the fridge, passing one to Connor who’s followed him in and opening the other to drink himself.

 

“Marty was okay,” says Evan conversationally, before taking a long sip of water. “Nice. Bit boring. You’re not boring.”

 

Connor chuckles. “Thank you?”

 

“I mean it,” Evan says seriously, pointing at Connor dramatically. “You blew into town like a… sexy leather-clad tumbleweed and I’m into it. I’m really, really into it.”

 

“You can’t hold your tequila, can you?”

 

“I can hold you,” Evan insists, putting down his water and snaking his arms around Connor’s waist. He leans in to kiss him and closes his eyes. He tastes like tequila still. “I like you,” he announces. “More than I’ve liked anyone in a long time.”

 

Connor’s quiet for a moment, then he pushes Evan’s hair out of his face and kisses his forehead. “I like you, too.”

 

Evan wakes up to the smell of coffee. There’s Connor, standing in the doorway hesitantly. He’s wearing one of Evan’s shirts and boxers, his hair is in a messy bun and he’s holding 2 mugs. He smiles as he sees Evan, then puts the coffee cup on the nightstand on what’s now Evan’s side of the bed.

 

“There’s water and painkillers there, too,” says Connor as he puts his own coffee cup on the other nightstand and crawls back into bed. “I was going to try to make an omelette, but I wasn’t sure if you were a hangover equals food person or a hangover equals ‘don’t talk to me and let me sleep’ person.”

 

“I’m not hungover particularly often,” Evan admits, opening the water and picking up the sheet of painkiller tablets. He downs two Tylenol with the water and shoots Connor a grateful look. “How bad was it?”

 

“Well, you fucked the Uber driver.”

 

Evan’s heart stops. “I did _what_?”

 

Connor cracks up laughing. “Oh my god, that came out wrong. Some other night you fucked the Uber driver, is what I meant to say. As in, he recognized you. I don’t think he was super happy to see me coming home with you.”

 

Evan thinks for a moment. “I think Marty’s an Uber driver.”

 

“Yeah, Marty, that sounds about right.” Connor smirks. “You said he was boring.”

 

“That’s not very nice,” Evan replies with a sigh. “True, but not nice.”

 

Connor chuckles and drinks his coffee. Evan picks up his own cup and takes a sip. It’s good. Connor knows his way around an espresso machine.

 

“Jim was telling me that the cafe on the main road is looking for a casual barista,” Connor says casually. “I was thinking I might apply.”

 

Evan looks at Connor in surprise. “Really?”

 

Connor shrugs. “Yeah. Why not?” He grins. “If I’m going to be staying here, I might as well do something.” He looks at Evan as he continues. “I’d like to… I don’t know, it might be a good opportunity to… start fresh.” He takes a nervous sounding breath. “With you. If that’s okay. I don’t want to assume-”

 

“That sounds perfect,” Evan assures him. “I want you to stay.”

 

A smile curves the corners of Connor’s mouth and he takes another sip of coffee.

 

Evan could get used to this.

 

* * *

 

Connor’s got the password to Evan’s computer.

 

He’s got a copy of his credit card details.

 

He’s got the pin to his bank accounts.

 

He’s pretty sure he’s even got the security question sorted.

 

He has absolutely everything he needs to completely clear out all of Evan’s bank accounts, take the money and get the fuck out of here.

 

So why is he making latte art in a tiny cafe on the main road while Evan sits on his laptop in the corner, occasionally sending glances his way and grinning like an idiot?

 

Because he’s an idiot who went and fell in love with his mark, that’s why.

 

It’s been a month since he started at the cafe and they’ve fallen into a routine. Evan’s job is entirely remote - he does some tech consulting, even though he technically doesn’t need the money, which makes Connor feel a bit better about his plans to rob him blind, because he doesn’t want to leave him completely up shit creek.

 

He doesn’t want to leave him at all.

 

Anyway, because the job’s remote, Evan tends to sit in the corner at the cafe and work while Connor’s working. Not every day, but most days. Some days he’ll go for a walk around the corner and go to the library and pick up books for them, which Connor appreciates because he’s always loved reading. They’re working through one of those ‘1001 Books You Should Read Before You Die’ lists at the moment. Evan’s getting everything he can from the library and just straight up buying anything he can’t, saying that if it’s a book neither of them particularly care for he’ll just donate it to the library.

 

He can’t be real.

 

He just can’t be.

 

It’s nice, knowing Evan’s there in the corner. Connor’s boss April, a blonde woman in her early 30s who is definitely one of the many people in this town who have slept with Evan, thinks it’s hilarious and likes to tease them both mercilessly, but seems to like having them around. Evan’s even selling eggs from his chickens at the counter.

 

It’s all domestic and weird and Connor wants to hate it.

 

Needs to hate it.

 

If he hates it, then he’ll finally bring himself to leave.

 

Finish the job and cut all ties.

 

But there he is, working at the cafe every weekday. It’s a small town, but they do have a central business district with a couple of offices and they make up the bulk of the customers. April doesn’t open the cafe on weekends, which Connor doesn’t understand from a business perspective but appreciates from a practical perspective, because weekends are for Friday night karaoke, followed by incredible sex, followed by Saturday morning waffles and usually more incredible sex.

 

Then again, weeknights are also for incredible sex.

 

They’re at it like rabbits. It would be disturbing if it weren’t for the fact that Connor was enjoying it so damn much.

 

He draws a heart with the milk in a latte, then takes it over to Evan’s table and kisses him on the cheek. Evan looks up and moves to kiss him properly.

 

He’s a fucking idiot.

 

Of course it’s all going to come crashing down.

 

It’s a Thursday, and Evan’s gone to the library. There aren’t any customers and April’s gone for the day, so it’s just Connor in the cafe, bored as fuck and blasting David Bowie to make the time go faster.

 

A familiar figure comes through the door.

 

Connor’s blood runs cold.

 

“You’re taking your sweet time on this one, Murphy,” says Smitt, thin lips set in a frown. “Beginning to think you’re avoiding me.”

 

“It’s complicated,” Connor lies. “I don’t have everything I need yet.”

 

Smitt snorts. “Bullshit.”

 

“I’m serious,” Connor insists. “Think about it - this guy created some cutting-edge technology. He’s not just gonna have his passwords all easy to access like any other average guy. This is some heavily encrypted shit. I’m trying to get the key for it.”

 

“We’ve got other shit we need you on,” Smitt says with a harsh glare. “This guy was supposed to be an easy mark, but if it turns out he’s not - we give up, we move on, no harm no foul. Take what you can and get out of there by the end of the week.”

 

“Just give me some more time, I swear I can crack this.”

 

“Like I said, there’s other shit we need you for.” Smitt smirks. “Besides, aren’t you bored off your ass as a barista in this shithole?” Smitt raises his eyebrows. “Unless you’re enjoying this. Playing house with some kid you knew in high school.”

 

“That’s not what-”

 

“This isn’t real, Connor. If you’re trying to convince yourself that you can have some bullshit domestic life with this tree-hugging loner in the middle of nowhere, you’re deluding yourself.” Smitt leans against the counter. “I know what you really are and there’s no escaping it. You stay here and you’re in for a world of trouble - not just from us, but from yourself. Because you’re not meant for this. You know you’re not.”

 

Connor will not cry in front of this asshole. He won’t. Part of him wants to scream and yell and throw hot coffee on Smitt. The part of him that doesn’t want to give this up. Doesn’t want to give up karaoke and waffles and sex and cuddles and Evan.

 

But the other part knows he’s right.

 

“End of the week,” Connor repeats slowly. “Okay. I’ll get what I can.”

 

Smitt nods. “Good.” He gestures to the espresso machine. “I’ll get something to go.”

 

* * *

 

Connor’s full of energy when he gets home from work, which is a contrast from his usual good-natured complaining about customers and their various complaints. Evan’s about to heat up last night’s leftover curry when all of a sudden, Connor’s pushing him against the fridge, kissing his neck and unbuckling his belt.

 

“Not that I’m complaining,” Evan says between moans, “but what’s-”

 

He’s cut off by Connor’s lips on his and decides to stop asking questions when Connor practically rips off his shirt and drags him into the bedroom.

 

With every kiss, every moan, every touch, Evan’s finding it harder and harder to think, but he can’t help but feel like this is something momentous, something big, something he can’t quite put his finger on yet.

 

The entire night he’s surrounded by Connor - how he feels, how he smells, how he tastes. They’re at it for hours, with a brief break for dinner, then another break for ice cream. Somewhere around two in the morning, when they’re exhausted and they’ve worn each other out entirely, Evan drifts off to sleep in Connor’s arms, his last memory of a kiss at the base of his neck.

 

He wakes up to the morning rays of the sun and an empty bed.

 

Evan sits up and listens.

 

And he knows.

 

He checks the bathroom, just in case.

 

But he knows.

 

He goes into the living room, wondering if Connor’s just found it hard to sleep and is reading on the couch.

 

He’s not.

 

Evan knows.

 

He opens his front door and looks out at his driveway.

 

Connor’s car isn’t there.

 

It’s early. Too early for Connor to have gone to work already. Then again, that could be it. Right?

 

Connor’s drawer in Evan’s bedroom is empty.

 

Evan knows.

 

He goes back to bed in the vain hope that if he sleeps a little longer, he’ll wake up and it’ll all have been a dream.

 

But that’s not going to happen.

 

He knows.

 

He sleeps on and off for the rest of the day. He feeds Prudence. He lets her into his bedroom and she curls up beside him. It’s been awhile since she’s done that - she hadn’t had an issue with Connor, but Evan had a thing against his dog being in the room when they had sex, and they were pretty much _constantly_ having sex, so Prudence had been sleeping in the washroom more and more.

 

It’s nice to have her warm body curled up against his.

 

But not as nice as it would be to still have Connor.

 

As 7.30pm rolls around, Evan’s still not out of bed. A thought occurs to him and he grabs his phone.

 

He checks his bank balance.

 

There’s $50,000 missing from his account.

 

He goes back to sleep and tries not to cry.

 

* * *

 

Smitt’s not exactly jumping for joy at $50,000, but he’s not mad, either. Connor’s transferred the money through an offshore holding account as instructed and while Smitt’s frustrated that they couldn’t get their hands on Evan’s millions, it’s at least something to show for over a month undercover.

 

Every time Smitt makes some crass joke about undercover under covers, Connor kind of wants to be sick, but he just smiles and laughs like it’s some kind of joke.

 

Like the fact that he broken Evan’s heart and his own is something to laugh about.

 

He’s such a fucking asshole.

 

He spends nearly half of his paycheck on tequila shots at a dive bar in the city then spends a week stoned in a tent in one of Smitt’s friend’s backyards.

 

He’s such a fucking asshole.

 

Smitt’s a little wary of him after the Evan job and doesn’t give him anything big for a while. It’s all just small jobs - freaking someone out if they don’t pay what they’re owed, some drop-offs and pickups, the occasional bit of petty theft. Connor doesn’t really care anymore.

 

This is what he is, after all.

 

Small jobs continue for another six months, and he eventually moves into another contact’s basement, which is an absolute shit hole but is a better option than a tent or his car when winter hits. It’s snowing and he thinks about how Evan would have looked in the snow, cheeks red, flakes melting into his messy waves.

 

He thinks about how when he used to think about Evan Hansen, he thought about this dorky kid in a blue striped polo and khaki pants, clean-shaven with neatly trimmed hair. How that was the Evan Hansen he used to know. But the Evan Hansen he spent a month with, the Evan Hansen he spent a month loving, _his_ Evan Hansen was so different with his muscles and scruffy hair and beard and plaid shirt and…

 

Connor’s got to stop torturing himself like this.

 

He gets pneumonia in the middle of winter and it absolutely blows. At one point, when he’s definitely running a fever, he’s absolutely sure that Evan’s there, feeding him soup and wiping his brow and generally mothering the shit out of him. When he gets it through his stupid brain that it can’t possibly be true, he actually cries. Evan Hansen is in his cozy cabin in the woods, with a new warm body in his bed every Friday night, and Connor Murphy is in some asshole’s basement, feverish and coughing up a lung.

 

He hopes Evan’s got someone keeping him warm.

 

Someone keeping an eye on him.

 

Someone to help him find the right key if he drinks too much and stumbles home.

 

Maybe he’s fucking Marty the Uber Driver again.

 

Or April from the Cafe.

 

Or even Jim the Bartender.

 

Connor can never show his face in that town again. They’d get out the pitchforks and the tar and the feathers.

 

He hopes Evan’s not alone.

 

Even though it hurts to think of him with someone else.

 

* * *

 

It’s Saturday morning and Evan’s eating waffles.

 

Alone.

 

He’s tried to go back to Jim’s bar, he really has. It’s just that every time he gets anywhere near the place, he’s overwhelmed by memories of Connor and isn’t that just pathetic, when it’s been over half a year and they were only together for a month.

 

He’s actually started freezing the waffles now.

 

New Saturday morning routine involves putting two waffles in the toaster, making a coffee and eating alone.

 

He picks up his phone and hits a contact he hasn’t touched in a while.

 

“Hey Evan!” Alana chirps as she answers the phone.

 

“Hi,” Evan says, feeling his throat get a little dry. “It’s Evan.”

 

“Yes it is,” says Alana, as Evan mentally kicks himself for still being such an awkward weirdo. “Everything okay? How have you been?”

 

“Good, things are good,” Evan lies. “Are you with Zoe right now?”

 

He can practically hear Alana roll her eyes. “Well, she is my wife.”

 

“I know,” says Evan. “I was at your wedding.”

 

“She’s here. Do you want to talk to her?”

 

 _Not really_ , Evan thinks. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

 

There’s a muffled sound on the other end of the line, then a familiar voice. “Hey Evan,” says Zoe, sounding a little curious. “What’s up?”

 

“Not much,” Evan says as calmly as he can. “I was, uh… have you heard from your brother? In the last six months or so?”

 

There’s a moment of silence, then Zoe sighs. “Christ, what did he do?”

 

“He didn’t do anything,” Evan blurts out automatically. Defensively. He sighs. “He was with me for about a month, and things were good. Really good. But then he left and he… I just want to know if he’s okay?”

 

“Fuck,” says Zoe, tone exasperated. “He ripped you off, didn’t he?” Evan doesn’t respond. Can’t respond. Zoe swears again. “Fucking hell, Evan, I’m so sorry.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” Evan assures her. “This was stupid, I shouldn’t have called, it’s not your problem-”

 

“I get why you did,” Zoe interrupts. “But no, I haven’t heard from him in the last six months. I can call him and make sure his sorry ass is still alive if you really want.”

 

“Please don’t,” Evan says hurriedly. “I don’t want him to… look, it was obviously a joke, right? He was here in town and he was with me and he worked in a cafe and… it was just some big joke on me, so please don’t call him and tell him I asked after him, because that’s just going to make me sound more pathetic than I already am.”

 

“You’re not pathetic,” Zoe says softly. She sighs. “You couldn’t have known, and I didn’t know he was going to just show up and drag you into his bullshit. This is what he _does_ now. He scams people. He did this whole thing like four years ago when he came home and was all ‘I’m trying to change, Mom’ and was pleasant for like, 2 weeks before running off with all of Mom’s expensive jewelry and pawning it.”

 

“Oh,” says Evan. Like the fucking idiot he is.

 

“Yeah,” says Zoe, her tone sad. “I just… I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t… I’m sorry. I’m sorry he did that, I’m sorry he hurt you, I’m sorry he stole from you… I’m sorry that nine years later and I’m still apologizing for my brother to you, Evan, Jesus Christ.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” Evan says again. “Look, I should have… I don’t know, known or something.” He laughs hollowly. “Like, it should have been pretty fucking obvious that Connor wasn’t really falling in love with me, you know? Obviously, that’s not a thing that would ever actually happen.”

 

“Evan,” says Zoe, her tone sympathetic and terribly, terribly sad. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Again, not your fault.” Evan rubs his face. “I, uh, actually have to go, I’m so sorry to bother you-”

 

“Do you want me to text if I hear from him?” Zoe asks suddenly. “Just so you know he’s not dead in a ditch somewhere, I don’t know.”

 

“Yes,” he says immediately. Desperately.

 

God, he’s pathetic.

 

“I’ll do that.” Zoe sighs. “I’m sorry. I really am. Take care, Evan.”

 

He ends the call and makes another cup of coffee.

 

* * *

 

Connor answers his cell before he’s really awake. “What.”

 

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

 

“Oh hey Zo,” he mumbles. “I actually know that so can I go back to sleep?”

 

“I just got a phone call from Evan Hansen.”

 

Connor sits bolt upright. “Is he okay?” he says, without thinking.

 

There’s dead silence on the other end of the line. Then Zoe continues, her tone cold. “He’s not doing great, no, but I’m pretty sure he’s a lot better off without your bullshit in his life.”

 

Connor’s stomach sinks. “What did he tell you?”

 

“Not much,” Zoe says, voice sharp enough to cut through lead. “He didn’t say much but what he didn’t say spoke volumes. You found out he’d made some money and you ripped him off, didn’t you.”

 

Connor rubs his face. “Zoe-”

 

“I don’t want to fucking hear it,” she snaps. “He actually called to ask if I’d heard from you because he wanted to know if you were okay. He wanted to know if you were _okay_ , Connor - the guy you _screwed over_ and _ripped off_ wanted to know _if you were okay_. Jesus Christ, Connor, do you ever think about anyone but yourself?”

 

“It was a job,” Connor snaps back. “It wasn’t like I targeted him myself.”

 

“That’s almost worse. Take some fucking responsibility, Connor.”

 

“Did you just call to yell at me?” Connor asks. He’s tired. He’s so tired. “What am I saying - like you ever call to do anything else.”

 

Silence again. Connor’s sleep-deprived brain pieces together the last time they’d had a conversation on the phone. “Pretty sure the last time I called you was to beg you to come to my wedding,” Zoe says icily. “And you couldn’t even manage that.”

 

“I was working-”

 

“You said you’d be there! You said you’d be there, and stand up the front with me, and you let me down, just like you always do!”

 

Connor digs his nails into his palm. He’s tired, and he’s not quite recovered yet, and he’s not going to cry, damn it. “Okay, fine, you want to know why I wasn’t there?” Connor snaps, exhausted and defensive. “I was in the middle of a job. And it was sensitive, and it was supposed to be over in time, and if I’d left I’d have ruined the whole thing, and I was on thin ice and they threatened to put a bullet in my head if I didn’t get it done.”

 

It’s quiet again. “Jesus fuck, Connor,” says Zoe, her voice thick with tears. “I get that you’re an asshole, but… this shit you’re involved in is going to get you killed if you’re not careful. And you’re _never_ fucking careful.”

 

“Like you’d care,” Connor says, regretting the words instantly.

 

“Don’t you fucking _dare_.” Zoe’s voice is dangerously low. “You’re an asshole but you’re still my brother and you have got to do something about this. Get out.”

 

“It’s not that easy-”

 

“Get. Out.”

 

Connor sighs. “I know you don’t believe me, but… I didn’t want to hurt Evan.”

 

“Doesn’t matter what you wanted. What matters is what you did.”

 

“I know.”

 

* * *

 

It takes another month for Evan to go back to the bar.

 

When Jim sees him walk in, he pours him a beer and Evan kind of wants to cry at the familiar gesture. He walks over, hands Jim his credit card and smiles weakly.

 

Jim comes out from behind the bar and gives him a great big bear hug.

 

Evan wasn’t expecting that, but it’s been months since he was this close to another human being, so… it’s kind of nice.

 

“Heard about what happened,” says Jim. “I’m sorry. You seemed happy.”

 

“Yeah,” Evan confesses. “I was.”

 

He flips through the karaoke catalogue and it’s kind of like playing with fire, because there are so many songs he’s sung with Connor, or sung to Connor, or were sung by Connor, and Connor is all over this bar and it’s not fair, because Evan was here first, damn it. It’s not fair that memories Connor gets to be everywhere - in this bar, in the cafe, in Evan’s bed - and Connor isn’t really here.

 

It’s not fair that he fell in love with a literal con-artist who not only stole his heart but also stole fifty thousand dollars.

 

He finds a song he hasn’t sung before and heads to the karaoke machine.

 

And sings ‘I Can’t Make You Love Me’ with everything he’s got from that tiny beer soaked stage.

 

Jim looks like someone ran over his cat when he hands Evan another beer as he gets offstage, and there’s a drunk girl at the bar who’s openly weeping.

 

“You’ve got an amazing voice,” says the drunk girl, grabbing onto his arm and kind of weirdly stroking his shirt. “Who hurt you? Oh my god, whoever broke your heart, I’m going to kick their ass, you’re so cute, oh my god.”

 

“Uh, thank you,” says Evan, trying to smile.

 

He finishes his beer and goes home.

 

Alone.

 

* * *

 

After months, Connor’s finally got an interesting job. Something he can sink his teeth into. It’s a bit more high class than his last few and to make it work, Smitt’s actually putting him up in a relatively decent apartment.

 

Well, it turns out that the apartment actually belongs to a couple who live overseas and he’s basically squatting, but he’s not going to think too hard about it. He just tells people he’s their nephew and he’s house-sitting and the neighbors don’t think twice.

 

Samuel Hayden works on Wall Street and makes a lot of money and has a weakness for men in well-tailored suits, so… Connor’s a man in a well-tailored suit for a while. He’s done it before, obviously, but it’s different this time.

 

This is a bigger con than he realized.

 

Samuel’s relatively easy to seduce, and easier to keep in line. Connor finds himself at parties and events as arm candy almost constantly, which is exactly what Smitt had planned. He bugs Samuel’s phone and his computer. He stakes out his office. He gathers the information he’s asked to gather and he sends it back to Smitt.

 

It’s not all bad. Parties and fancy black tie events are boring as fuck, but there’s always an open bar and the food is good.

 

(Still, he’d rather be eating waffles with Evan, watching the corners of his eyes crinkle into a smile in the early morning light.

 

But that’s not something he’s ever going to see again.)

 

He’s been with Samuel for about two months when Samuel asks him to move in, and he agrees. This is part of the plan. A long con that’ll pay up big, if Connor keeps to the plan.

 

Samuel’s apartment is minimalist and cold and black and white and everything Evan’s cabin in the woods isn’t.

 

Connor kind of hates it.

 

He wishes he didn’t.

 

Samuel’s a nice guy, but he’s not Evan.

 

It’s been nearly a year since he saw Evan. He shouldn’t still be thinking about him.

 

* * *

 

When Evan’s phone rings with an unknown number, he almost doesn’t answer it. He lets it ring for a while, trying to resist the temptation, because there’s a part of him who thinks it might be Connor, even after all this time.

 

He’s never been great at resisting temptation.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Evan.”

 

Evan’s heart sinks.

 

It’s a voice he knows, but not the one he wanted.

 

“Why are you calling?”

 

There’s a chuckle from the other end of the line. “Wow, we’re really skipping the pleasantries, huh?” He sighs. “How’ve you been?”

 

“Fine.” Evan resists the urge to hang up the phone. “What do you want, Simon?”

 

“Straight to the point,” Simon says, his tone fond, which kind of makes Evan want to scratch his eyes out. “I was hoping we could meet.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I wanted to pick your brain about some upgrades for the drone technology. Remember? The technology we created together?”

 

“The technology you sold to the government so they could kill people in foreign countries with it? Yeah, I remember.”

 

Simon sighs. “Look, I know you don’t like what I did-”

 

“That’s a fucking understatement if I ever heard one.”

 

“- but it’s been three years and technology is changing constantly and we need minds like yours in the business, Evan.”

 

“Are you seriously trying to convince me to come work for you?” Evan asks incredulously. “Seriously?”

 

“Not work for me,” Simon says hurriedly. “Work with me. You miss it, don’t you? We worked really well together.” His voice grows quiet. “I miss you.”

 

Evan takes in a deep breath.

 

And tries to figure out if he misses Simon.

 

He spent years missing him, he’s not going to lie to himself. Missing the way he pushed his glasses up his nose with his middle finger absently, missing his passionate rants about the evils of decaf, missing the way he’d hum classical music under his breath when he was getting close to a breakthrough. Missing the way they’d kiss in the dark, nights spent crammed in a tiny office, the way it felt to have him by his side in those heady days where their technology had succeeded and they were on top of the world.

 

But that was years ago.

 

Evan thought they were going to save the world together. The fact that their inventions are being used to destroy…

 

That’s not something he can push aside.

 

“It’s been a long time,” Evan says gently. “And I really do wish you all the best, I do. But I can’t be involved. Not again. I just can’t.”

 

“Evan, come on.”

 

“I hope it all works out. But please don’t call me again.”

 

* * *

 

This isn’t the first time Connor’s been arrested.

 

Not by a long shot.

 

He remembers getting arrested for drug possession a year out of high school and his dad coming in and bailing him out and lawyering his way out of jail time, then looking at Connor with utter disgust and telling him he’d never be doing that again. That next time, Connor was on his own.

 

And over the years, there have been little things. Petty theft, assault. He’s done some community service hours and a couple of weeks behind bars, but nothing major.

 

But this time he might be well and truly at the end of the line.

 

The cop in front of him is posturing in that way he kind of thought you’d only find in movies and is basically showing him all the evidence they’ve collected against him. It’s… pretty bad. Breaking and entering. Embezzling funds. Assault. He’s… yeah, he’s screwed.

 

And yet…

 

“We’ve been watching you for awhile,” says the detective thoughtfully. “And I don’t think you’re working alone. I think you’re just a cog in a bigger machine. If you tell me who you’re working for, we can cut a deal.”

 

Connor’s tired.

 

He’s really tired.

 

He’s tired of lying and he’s tired of worrying he’s going to get caught and arrested. He’s tired of worrying he’ll get a bullet in the brain if he fucks up.

 

Maybe it’s just time to come clean.

 

They’ll know he ratted them out and they’ll kill him.

 

But he might not actually care.

 

“Alright,” he says with a shrug. “Got a pen? I’ll tell you what I know.”

 

* * *

 

A knock on the door at 2 in the morning is never a good sign.

 

Prudence starts barking at the sound and Evan drags himself out of bed and to the front door, shrugging on a dressing gown on the way and feeling lead line the bottom of his stomach.

 

He opens the door.

 

There’s Connor.

 

He’s pale and shaking.

 

Evan bites his lip.

 

“How was your year?” Connor asks with a smirk, then collapses. Evan manages to catch him before he falls and is overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol and blood.

 

Holy shit.

 

He manages to get Connor into the living room and on the couch. His shoulder’s bleeding. Evan takes in a sharp breath. “What happened?”

 

“Got shot,” Connor says matter-of-factly. “They missed.”

 

“Looks like they definitely shot you.”

 

“Well, they were aiming for my head, so…” Connor winces. “They missed.”

 

“Holy shit.”

 

“I think the bullet’s still in there?” he says, closing his eyes and laying his head back against the sofa. “I couldn’t do anything about it, I had to get out, so I just… poured vodka on it to at least keep it clean.”

 

“That explains the smell,” says Evan as he looks closer. It’s not a clean shot - it’s messy and it’s bloody - but Evan doesn’t think it’s infected, which is something. Connor’s shaking, and Evan swears under his breath.

 

“Okay,” he says as calmly as he can manage. “I’ll be right back. I just need to get some stuff.”

 

He’s back less than three minutes later with his heavy duty first kit and a bottle of whiskey. He hands Connor the whiskey, who raises his eyebrows in question. Evan kind of tilts his head. “You’re going to want that. This is going to hurt.”

 

“Noted.”

 

Evan disinfects the long-handled tweezers, throws a silent prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in and puts the tweezers in the gaping hole in Connor’s shoulder. Connor screams and Evan’s heart might not be able to handle it, but his stomach is going to have to. He grits his teeth determinedly and feels around for the bullet. It takes a couple of tries but soon he manages to get it out.

 

He uses rubbing alcohol to clean the wound, then applies a tiny bit of numbing cream to the edges and starts working on some stitches. Connor’s pale and sweaty and clearly woozy with pain, but he looks a little impressed at Evan’s meticulous work. “Man of many talents,” he says, breathing a little labored. “How do you know how to do that?”

 

“My mom was a nurse,” Evan explains. “Still is, actually, she just works a lot less than she did in high school. Now that money’s not as much of an issue.”

 

He doesn’t mention how difficult it was to get Heidi to accept any of his money, how difficult it’s been for her to finally give in and let him support her. She still insists on the occasional casual shift to help out, as well as working part-time as a paralegal. She sees it as a way of giving back, Evan thinks, and not forgetting where she came from.

 

She cried the day Evan paid off her mortgage.

 

Evan would give anything to make his mother happy.

 

“My mom did fuck all,” Connor says, still kind of breathless. “She was just… lazy and rich. Yoga and brunches and shit.”

 

“Sounds nice,” Evan comments absently, finishing up the last stitch. He looks at Connor, still shaking and pale on the sofa. “I’m gonna get you a shirt. Something warm. Do you want a cup of tea?” Connor shakes his head. “Have you eaten recently?” Connor shakes his head and opens his mouth to argue, but Evan plows right ahead. “I’m making you a sandwich.”

 

He heads into the bedroom to get a shirt and when he gets to the kitchen, he sees that Connor has taken a seat at the counter. “This place hasn’t changed,” Connor says softly.

 

“You should be lying down,” Evan says sharply, handing Connor a shirt and a soft woolen cardigan. He tries not watch as Connor puts them on. They’re both far too big on him - Evan’s always been broader than Connor, and Connor’s lost some weight in the last little while.

 

There are dark circles under his eyes and he looks like he’s barely holding it together.

 

Connor looks right at him, face full of shame and regret. “Evan.”

 

“You need to eat,” Evan says firmly, pulling ingredients out of the fridge, then going to the breadbox to pull out homemade sourdough. “Hummus and tomato okay?”

 

“Okay,” Connor replies. He looks small. Young. Like someone’s drained all the fight out of him. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, then winces a little.

 

Evan pulls a bottle of water out of the fridge and hands it to him, then grabs some Advil and Tylenol out of the pantry and slides them over. Connor opens the water and takes the painkillers with a softly murmured thank you.

 

Evan makes two sandwiches, hands one over to Connor and starts eating the other one.

 

It’s two am and his ex… something showed up at his house with a gunshot wound.

 

May as well eat a sandwich.

 

Prudence pads in and heads straight for Connor, nuzzling his leg with her wet dog nose. Connor chuckles and scratches her head affectionately with what he seems to realize too late is his bad arm, but he just bites his lip and keeps going. “How are you, Prudence?” Connor says quietly to Evan’s dog. “You been looking after this guy while I’ve been gone?”

 

Prudence barks and licks Connor’s hand.

 

“That’s golden retriever for ‘you’re a dickhead who broke Evan’s heart, by the way’,” says Evan, sharper than he intends to.

 

Prudence nuzzles Connor’s leg a bit more.

 

“Gotta say, this dog of yours is the undisputed queen of mixed messages,” Connor comments lightly, scratching Prudence under her jaw. Evan watches as his traitorous dog closes her eyes in bliss. Connor looks right at Evan. “You’re not exactly bad at the mixed messages thing yourself, you know.”

 

“Oh?” says Evan, preparing himself for a smackdown.

 

“I thought you’d slam the door on my face,” Connor confesses. “Instead you gave me first aid, made me a sandwich and called me a dickhead.”

 

“Did you honestly think I’d leave you to bleed out on my doorstep?” Evan asks incredulously.

 

“Of course I didn’t,” Connor snaps. “I knew you’d help me, it’s the only reason…” he takes a deep breath and continues, “it’s the only reason I had the guts to come back. I had nowhere else to go.”

 

“Well,” says Evan curtly, “at least I’m consistent.” He runs his hand through his hair. “What the fuck am I doing?” he says to himself. Out loud. Oops. He’s gotten used to being the only person around. Talking to himself has been his only source of conversation for so long.

 

“I ask myself that every day,” Connor confesses, picking up his sandwich and taking a bite. He smiles a little as he chews, then swallows and smiles a little more. “You still make a good sandwich.”

 

“It’s been a year,” says Evan. “I haven’t lost the ability to make a sandwich.”

 

“A year,” Connor repeats, looking down at his plate. He picks at the crust. “Would it help to know that I’ve thought about you every day since I left?”

 

“No.”

 

Connor looks up and straight at Evan. “Would it help to know that I could have taken every single cent you have but didn’t?”

 

Evan snorts. “Well, that was nice of you. Thanks for only slightly robbing me, Connor, that’s very thoughtful of you.”

 

“I was hired to do a job,” Connor says, voice strained. “I was supposed to take everything you had. I had everything I needed to do it but when push came to shove I just… I couldn’t. And the people who hired me kept asking why it was taking so long, so I told them you had crazy security and they told me to take what I could and run.” He sighs. “So I took $50,000 to make it worth their while and left.”

 

Evan folds his arms. “Why didn’t you take everything?” Connor doesn’t answer. Evan feels a bubble of anger crawl up inside him. “Fucking hell, I think I deserve to know. Why didn’t you take everything, Connor?”

 

“Because I’m an idiot and I fell for you, okay?” Connor snaps. “I fell for this whole stupid thing. You’re really hot and you’re kind and you’re sweet and you’re thoughtful and you’re everything I ever wanted and couldn’t admit to myself, and I couldn’t destroy you like that.” Connor snorts. “I figured that I’d break your heart either way. At least the way I did it, I didn’t completely bankrupt you.” He rolls his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

 

Evan’s quiet for a long moment. “You could have explained it to me,” he says softly. “I would have understood.”

 

Connor looks at him like he’s lost his fucking mind. “You would have understood? That’s complete bullshit, Evan! No one would have understood that! Do you really think you would have understood if I’d told you ‘oh, by the way, I got sent here to seduce you and rob you, but I’ve changed my mind, can I stay with you forever?’ You’d have freaked out, you’d have never wanted to see me again and you’d have been completely justified in feeling that way.” Connor looks down. “You’d never trust me again. You’re never going to trust me again. Everything we had was based on a lie.”

 

Evan has to look away because Connor’s eyes are too fiery, too intense, too full of guilt and grief and anger and self-loathing, and what he’s saying is probably true. And yet…

 

And yet.

 

“You need to get some rest,” Evan says softly. “Come to bed.”

 

Connor’s eyes are wide and disbelieving. “I can’t do that.”

 

“I’ll take the couch if it makes you more comfortable,” Evan says practically. “But you’re injured. You need rest.”

 

“I’m not kicking you out of your bed at two in the morning,” says Connor with a scowl. But he’s getting up. Alright then.

 

Evan takes Connor’s hand and gently leads him into the bedroom, then crawls onto his side of the bed. After a moment, Connor crawls into bed beside him. Evan switches off the light and feels the bed move as Prudence, bless her doggy heart, settles in between them.

 

It doesn’t take long for him to fall back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Connor wakes up to the morning sun. He’s warm. His shoulder aches, but he’s warm, and he’s comfortable (aside from the shoulder) and there’s something warm cuddled up beside him.

 

It takes him awhile to realize where he is.

 

What’s going on.

 

Prudence licks his face when she realizes he’s awake, and Connor chuckles a little, petting her head gently. Next to Prudence, the bed is empty, and Connor’s heart sinks a little.

 

Then rises a bit when Evan walks through the door with a tray full of food. Prudence heads over to him happily, Evan puts down the tray on the bedside cabinet then gives Prudence an affectionate head-scratch. “Sorry sweetheart,” Evan says apologetically to his dog. “We’re having a human breakfast first. You can go wait in the washroom until we’re done, okay?”

 

Prudence dutifully pads out of the room and Evan shuts the bedroom door. “You have that dog absurdly well trained,” Connor says, for want of anything better to say.”

 

Evan shrugs. “She’s a good dog.” He climbs back into bed and then puts the tray between them. “Breakfast,” he says, gesturing at the tray unnecessarily. “You’re probably not hungry but… if you’re healing, you need to eat.”

 

“You’re always trying to feed me,” Connor jokes weakly. “Why is that?”

 

Evan stops for a moment and looks at Connor, his expression unguarded. “We didn’t really know each other in high school,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact, “but it wasn’t a secret that I had really bad anxiety. My mom worked a lot and wasn’t home much, so she’d always leave me money for takeout, but ordering food and getting change for the delivery people… it was too much for me. So most of high school I just… didn’t eat. Then at college, it was all ramen and cup of soups and terrible dining hall food. So when I got my first job, I decided I was going to learn to cook. I watched a lot of YouTube videos and there were some unfortunate experiments, but I got there. And I just… I like it. I like being able to feed people with something I’ve made. I like knowing people aren’t going hungry.”

 

It’s blunt and honest and not at all what Connor expected. He kind of blinks. “I’m sorry,” Connor says quietly. “I didn’t mean to make you spill your guts like that.”

 

“I think there have been enough lies between us,” says Evan firmly. “Don’t you?”

 

Connor picks up one of the plates. There’s an omelette and toast and it all smells very, very good. He digs in happily, and Evan does the same. He’s hungrier than he realizes and it’s gone in a flash. Evan notices. “I can make you more food,” he offers.

 

“I’m okay,” Connor assures him. “But thank you.”

 

 _It’s more than I deserve,_ Connor thinks. _Far more than I deserve. In fact, I deserve literally none of this._

 

He suspects Evan doesn’t need to deal with his self-loathing today.

 

Or, you know, ever.

 

They finish breakfast. Evan gets out his first aid kit and insists on double-checking Connor’s shoulder wound, then covers it in a waterproof bandage so Connor can actually have a shower, which he appreciates more than he can say.

 

He can’t remember the last time he showered.

 

Or ate.

 

Or slept.

 

He’d gotten out of jail after a week behind bars, went back to the apartment to get his stuff and gotten shot, then jumped in his car and driven for hours until he finally got to Evan’s place.

 

Connor doesn’t even think he intentionally drove to Evan’s.

 

He honestly can’t remember deciding to do so.

 

He’d just… ended up here.

 

He awkwardly washes his hair with one hand and finds that it’s full of blood. He must have hit his head at one point when he was running from a hail of bullets. The water around his feet is the color of rust and Connor feels himself starting to shake a little, because fuck.

 

He could have died.

 

He should have died.

 

It takes longer than it should to get dressed, and he’s having absolutely no luck with his leather pants, but Evan’s left out a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring for him, and they’re a little short around the ankles and wide around the waist, but the drawstring keeps them in place.

 

He puts Evan’s shirt and cardigan back on and heads back into the living space, where Evan’s doing the dishes, something soft and lilting playing from the speaker on the bench.

 

Evan likes to listen to music when he cleans, Connor remembers.

 

He’s not sure how he forgot that.

 

For the last year, his head’s been full of tiny details about Evan, that pop up at the most inappropriate moments. He’d ordered a coffee and someone had drawn a fern with the milk foam and he’d thought about Evan’s smile when Connor drew a heart in his latte. He walked past a hiking store and thought about Evan’s warm, comfortable socks. God help him, one night someone had started singing ‘Can’t Help Falling In Love’ at a karaoke bar and he'd accidentally put a hole through the pool table with the cue.

 

Yet somehow, he’d forgotten that Evan likes to listen to music when he cleans.

 

“Good shower?” Evan asks. Connor nods. Evan looks him up and down and smiles a little. “I’ll get you some socks,” he says, then heads into the bedroom.

 

There’s a knock on the door.

 

Prudence barks loudly.

 

Connor’s blood runs cold.

 

Evan comes back into the living space, a frown on his face. He hands Connor the socks and heads to the door.

 

“Evan, don’t,” Connor says urgently. He’s got a bad feeling about this.

 

There’s a sinking sensation as he realizes that he’s brought all his shit right to Evan.

 

Evan ignores him and opens the front door, Connor trailing behind him like an idiot. He recognizes the guy standing there as one of Smitt’s goons. He grins at the sight of Connor and gives a little wave.

 

“Been looking for you,” he says to Connor. “Smitt’s got a price on your pretty little head. Dead or alive.”

 

“How much?” Evan asks.

 

The guy blinks. Connor thinks his name is Rex. “Fifty thousand,” he says confidently.

 

Evan looks at Connor and sighs. “At least the numbers are consistent.” Before Connor can stop him, he turns back to the guy. “I give you fifty thousand and you tell your boss he got what was coming to him. Sound good?”

 

“Evan, no,” Connor says firmly. He pushes past Evan and looks straight at possibly-Rex. “I’ll come with you and I’ll tell Smitt to his face that he’s never going near Evan again, okay?”

 

Rex smirks. “You’re not really in a position to make demands.”

 

“Look, it’s not a problem,” Evan says hurriedly, awkwardly. “I’ve got the money, just let me…” He reaches into his pocket for a moment, and Rex watches on hungrily.

 

Then Evan straight up decks him in the face. Rex recoils in horror and Evan dives in, grabbing his collar and bashing his head against one of the pillars on the front porch. Rex crumples in a heap on the porch and Connor stares at Evan in absolute shock.

 

“What the fuck, Evan?”

 

“Get your things,” Evan says curtly. “Let’s go.”

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“Get your things.”

 

Connor follows Evan back into the house and watches in horror as he starts pushing over furniture, throwing around books and generally making a complete mess. His mind is racing and nothing’s making any sense until it finally clicks.

 

Evan’s making it look like the place was ransacked.

 

The way he’s going about it, methodical and purposeful, makes Connor think that this isn’t something he’s just doing without thinking.

 

It makes him think that Evan Hansen is crazy prepared for anything that could ever happen to him.

 

Anything.

 

“Get your things,” Evan says for a third time, his voice still level. “There’s a duffel bag in the bottom of the wardrobe. It’s got everything I need in it. Do you have a passport?”

 

“What?”

 

Evan looks at him fiercely. “Do you have a passport?”

 

“I… yeah, I do.”

 

“Is it in your name?”

 

“Yes.” Connor thinks. “I have one that’s not in my name, but Smitt will know to look out for it.”

 

“Okay,” says Evan. “That’s fine, I can work with that.”

 

Evan keeps methodically trashing the house, and Connor collects his things, which are, thankfully, not exactly unpacked or anything. He grabs the duffel bag from the bottom of the wardrobe, then goes back into the main living area. Evan’s a little breathless but his face is still set in steely determination. “Let’s go,” he says, Prudence happily wagging her tail at his side.

 

Connor has no fucking clue what’s going on, but he follows Evan out the back door and into the woods.

 

They’ve been walking for about half an hour where they come to a clearing and a barn. Evan unlocks the barn and Connor’s eyes widen yet again at what’s in there.

 

An RV.

 

“This is our ride,” Evan announces.

 

“This is yours?” Connor asks in amazement.

 

“It’s mine,” Evan confirms. He smirks a little. “It’s not registered to me, so no one will be able to find us through tracking it.”

 

“Holy shit,” Connor says, still not really processing what the everloving fuck is going on.

 

“I’ll explain once we get going,” Evan says, tone still maddeningly even. It’s like he’s on some kind of autopilot, and it’s freaking Connor out a little, but at the same time, it’s… almost action-hero-y hot, and he can’t say he doesn’t like it. He opens the side door of the RV and gestures for Connor to follow him inside.

 

It’s nice. There’s a decent sized bed, a small kitchen, it’s more spacious than Connor expected and there’s a dog bed near the front that Prudence happily settles into. Connor leans down and scratches Prudence’s head and Evan’s face softens.

 

“Let’s go,” Evan says quietly. They climb over into the front seats of the vehicle and Evan starts driving.

 

* * *

 

Evan knows Connor has questions. He’s expecting him to ask them any time now. They’re nearly at the Canadian border, and it’s probably time to stop and get things sorted out.

 

He pulls over to the side of the road.

 

Connor looks at him, a little startled. Evan frowns in concern. “Your shoulder okay?” he asks gently.

 

“It’s fine,” Connor replies, clearly a bit confused. “Why are we stopping?”

 

“Canadian border,” Evan explains. “They’ll need ID. Can I see your fake one?”

 

Connor kind of stares for a moment, then nods, unbuckles his seatbelt and heads to the back of the RV to get his bag. Evan follows him, because everything he needs is back there as well. He pulls out his kit and Connor hands him his fake passport.

 

Evan studies it. It’s a pretty good fake. He just needs to make some adjustments.

 

He gets to work, feeling Connor’s eyes on him the whole time as he meticulously doctors the passport with a whole new name.

 

“Okay, how the hell do you know how to do all this?” Connor demands suddenly.

 

Evan smirks but doesn’t look up. “There it is,” he says. “I was wondering how long it’d be until you cracked.”

 

“I’m serious.”

 

Evan puts the final touches on the fake passport and looks at Connor. He’s wrapped his arms around himself and his jaw is tightly clenched. Evan feels a pang of sympathy for him, but then decides he’s going to make him wait a little longer. “I like to be prepared,” he says finally.

 

“You like to be prepared? They don’t teach you how to doctor a passport in Boy Scouts, Evan.”

 

“How do you know?” Evan asks matter-of-factly. “You were never a Boy Scout.”

 

“Evan. Seriously.”

 

Evan closes the passport and hands it to Connor. “When the drone technology went public and the government bought it out, there were a lot of very angry people,” Evan says, trying to keep his voice even. “And somehow, my name got out and all of a sudden, I was getting death threats. Seriously detailed death threats. Enough that it got me scared enough to move to the middle of nowhere.” Evan swallows. “Enough that I’ve had a getaway plan in case anything happened for the last three years.”

 

Connor’s eyes are wide. “It’s a pretty extreme getaway plan,” he says after a moment’s pause.

 

“Yup,” says Evan, with a nod. “The kind of thing I can only do once. My mom knows about it - she doesn’t love it, but she knows about it. I’ve contacted her to let her know I’m safe and I’ve put the plan into motion and… that’s that.”

 

“You didn’t have to do this,” Connor says in a rush. “It’s not too late. The thing with Rex - he’s not going to report you. It’s not like you killed him, you just knocked him out. I’ll go back to Smitt and he’ll do… whatever it is he’s going to do. You don’t need to be involved in this. It’s not your fight.”

 

“I know it’s not my fight,” Evan says calmly. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt calmer about anything in his life. “But I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He smirks a little. “I’m an idiot, I know. I’m completely aware that I’m an idiot because you only came back because you know I’m stupid enough to want to help you, even after you broke my heart, but the problem is that I’m kind of in love with you and I don’t want you getting murdered.” He looks at Connor, heart pounding. “It’s no fun eating waffles by myself.”

 

Connor’s gaze softens. “There are so many people who’d eat your waffles, Evan.”

 

“That’s true. But none of them are you.”

 

Connor’s still staring at him. Evan’s worried for a moment that he’s coming on too strong.

 

But he’s done lying to himself. He’s been miserable without Connor, and now he’s here, and sure, there’s a lot more baggage than anticipated, but Evan always kind of knew he’d end up putting this plan into motion.

 

And it’s a lot nicer to be doing it with someone else.

 

In a swift, sudden motion, Connor grabs his face and kisses him soundly, pushing him back against the mattress in the RV. They’ve never been amazing at communication in the traditional sense, but they’ve always been very, very, very good at this. Evan’s mindful of Connor’s injured shoulder and the fact that his dog is quite literally sitting right there, wagging her tail, so breaks off the kiss before things can get too heated.

 

“Does this mean you’re coming with me?” Evan asks.

 

“Of course I am,” Connor replies, looking surprised that Evan’s even asking. He kisses his forehead gently. “Where are we going?”

 

“I’ve got contacts in Reykjavik.”

 

Connor blinks. “You’ve got contacts in Iceland?”

 

Evan grins. “You’re not the only one who’s full of surprises, you know?”

 

“What the hell,” says Connor, pushing Evan’s hair out of his face and touching his cheek with a grin. “Let’s go to Iceland.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was called 'Evan Hansen's Sexy Waffle House' in my head for the longest time.


End file.
